Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bianca
We have three days of peace at the McCarthy house. It astonishes me that I ever believed these people were anything but… family.
Caitlin is welcoming and maternal to everyone, including me. Bronwyn treats me like a sister, takes me under her wing, and we spend long afternoons in the library, reading in the oversized chairs with hand-knit blankets. Staff brings us tea, and I feel like a princess.
Ashland's training with his cousin, researching Marcus's location, and making his plan. It's at the back of my mind. Honestly, at the back of everybody's mind. We're nervous, we're worried, and we know there's going to be violence that we can't control.
But for now, things are good, and I will take that .
Every single night, Ashland comes back to me. We crawl into bed together, and I forget everything but him.
Four days after I've arrived, I'm doing the washing up in the kitchen. Caitlin tells me not to, that they have staff for that. But I like to earn my place, and it feels good to contribute to something here.
“I can't just sit around and get…” No, I won’t say it. But somehow, even when Ashland's not in the room, I know he would not be happy about that. And I'm starting to see that it's all been in my mind.
That I am beautiful, just as I am. And there's no reason to change anything about me. Not one thing.
“Lazy,” I finally finish with a smile.
Caitlin smiles back at me. “If you insist,” she says warmly.
“But I like that you're spending time with Bronwyn.” She takes a teacup out of the strainer and a hand towel.
“She's had a rough go of it in keeping friends.
Sometimes it can be isolating, being who we are.
People don't trust very easily, you know?”
“I know,” I say quietly, because until very recently, I was one of those people myself.
Erin sits at the table, pounding away on a laptop. She types faster than anyone I've ever known, and her mind is like a steel trap. I'm amazed by the woman.
“It's true,” she says pragmatically. “People don't trust the mafia.”
Bronwyn laughs out loud, stirring a large pot on the stove. “Erin, I love that there's no pretense with you. You just, you just say things.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Erin says, her brow furrowed.
“No, love,” Caitlin says, a smile in her voice as she pats Erin's shoulder. “You're perfect, just as you are.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I rinse and dry my hands, expecting another flirty message from Ashland. But when I see it's from my mother, my belly flutters with nerves. She's no longer just insisting that I come home. There's a different edge to her texts.
Now that I see her for what she is, I suspect everything.
Erin does too. I know she does. And I'm curious what she's going to reveal about her.
Mam
Marcus found you. He's coming to the McCarthy house. Bianca, we need to talk. Please.
My blood runs cold.
“Does anybody know where Ashland is?” I say, my voice too high.
“Everything alright?” Caitlin asks warily.
I shake my head and show her the message .
“He's not coming. She's lying,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally speak ill of people who can’t defend themselves, but I promise, he can’t come. Declan's been watching him and his people. He would know if he was moving. Don't worry about it, but let's go find Ashland.”
We walk through the massive house, and she speaks quietly to the staff until somebody finally locates Ashland with Seamus in his study.
“I need to talk with you,” I say.
Seamus looks at his mother. She shakes her head and gives a quiet nod for him to leave. Seamus's brow furrows, but he stands and leaves.
It's just Ashland and me. His jaw tics as he reads the message. “How the fuck did he find you?”
“Do you want me to ask her?”
He nods, so I text back with shaking fingers.
How did he find me?
Mam
Facial recognition software. He has connections everywhere, Bianca. Please. I'm scared for you. Can I come see you? I need to know you're safe.
Ashland reads over my shoulder, his body coiled tight with tension. “She wants to come here. She sounds scared and genuinely concerned,” I say, though something feels off about this.
“She should be fucking scared,” he mutters. “But if she wants to talk, we'll talk on our terms.”
He speaks to Seamus, and within an hour, my mother is being escorted to the front door by Declan, and I am a bundle of nerves. Even Ashland's large, warm hand on the small of my back does little to soothe me.
By the time she arrives, Ashland's cleared the kitchen of everyone except Erin, who sits at the far end of the table, quiet and observant. Readers are on the tip of her nose, her blonde hair pulled into a merciless ponytail. Caitlin lingers in the doorway.
“Mrs. White,” Caitlin says, her voice simple but cool. “Welcome, but please remember you're a guest here, and so is Bianca.” The warning is clear.
My mother sits across from me, her olive skin and dark eyes so different from my pale Irish coloring—all the Italian beauty I didn't inherit.
Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, not a strand out of place, and she's wearing the pearls she always wears, the ones she told me were from my father.
She looks immaculate as always—makeup flawless, wearing a cream-colored blouse that probably cost more than I realize.
She nods to Caitlin, but I can see her taking everything in.
The expensive finishes, the warm lighting, the obvious wealth that surrounds us.
Her lips thin with jealousy, and I know exactly what she would say if we were alone.
Flagrant show of wealth. Something barely masked as criticism, when it's nothing more than childish envy.
My mother nods, and Caitlin leaves, closing the door behind her with a soft click that feels a bit like a gavel falling.
Ashland's hand flexes on my back, his torso pressed against my shoulder, and my mother notices everything.
“Who are you?” she says coldly to Ashland.
“Ashland McCarthy,” he says. “Pleased to meet you.” His tone shows that he's not at all pleased, and he doesn't extend his hand in greeting.
“Bianca, baby,” my mother starts, reaching for me across the table.
Ashland's hand is on my shoulder now, possessive and protective. “She's not your baby anymore, Mrs. White. Say what you came to say.”
My mother's eyes flash with anger, but she swallows it down. She's outnumbered and no longer at home, where she commands everything.
“Bianca, I've been so worried about you. Marcus is calling constantly, demanding to know where you are. He says you left the restaurant together, and then you disappeared.” She swallows hard and pinches the bridge of her nose. “He thinks the McCarthys took you.”
“They didn't take me,” I correct, shaking my head. “I asked Ashland to come get me, to get me out of there. ”
She blows out a breath. “Because he convinced you Marcus was dangerous.”
“No, Mam.” My voice is stronger now. “Because Marcus grabbed my wrist so hard, he left bruises. Because he threatened me when I said I wanted to postpone the wedding. Because I saw something in his eyes that terrified me.”
“This nonsense about postponing the wedding. You're being dramatic,” my mother snaps. But when Ashland growls beside me, she quickly modifies her tone.
Something is off-putting—she doesn't really sound surprised.
“Am I?” I lean forward. “I have witnesses. There's a chef in the kitchen who saw him grab me. The hostess saw me run. I have proof he tried to hurt me.”
“Marcus would never?—”
“He's killed two women before her,” Ashland says flatly. “Two exes who died within a year of meeting him. Accidents, they said. But we know better, don't we, Mrs. White?”
My mother's face goes pale. She may be defending him, but I don't know if she knew this part.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't I?” Ashland leans back. “Funny thing about the McCarthy family, we keep very good records. We've known who Marcus Crowning is for a very long time. The question is, did you?”
The silence stretches, heavy and damning.
“Mam?” My voice cracks. “Did you know?”
She looks away, her fingers twisting in her lap. “I knew there were rumors, but rumors aren't facts, Bianca. Marcus's father is a good man. He would never let his son?—”
“His father is a criminal,” Erin says from the corner. It's the first time she's spoken, pragmatic and direct. “Just like Marcus, just like all the Crownings.”
“Who are you?” My mother's head snaps toward Erin. Something passes between them.
“My name is Erin McCarthy. I'm married to Cavin. I work for the McCarthy family, Mrs. White,” Erin says quietly, directly. “I actually pay their bills. And, as a matter of fact, yours.”
My mother blinks. Then her head snaps back to me, and her lips press together. She's been lying the whole time.
“You knew,” I whisper. Realization hits me like a physical blow. “You knew he was dangerous, and you still wanted me to marry him.”
“I wanted you to be taken care of,” my mother says firmly. “I wanted you to have the life you deserved. The life your father would have wanted. ”
“My father,” I say, “worked for the McCarthy family. He wasn't their victim, was he?”
The words hang in the air. My mother's face crumbles. “Who told you that? These monsters? They're responsible for his death, Bianca.”
“Remember where you are,” Erin says coldly.
“Yes,” Ashland says quietly. “He worked for us. He chose it. He signed paperwork to that end, knowing what he was doing was dangerous. We tried to save him, but we couldn't. And ever since he died, we've been making amends for it, haven't we?” He nods to Erin.
“We have records, ma'am.”
“Lies,” my mother hisses. “Lies.”
“Are they?” I sit up straighter. “I've seen those files, Mam. I've seen the evidence. The bank records, the communications.”
“They killed your father, and they had to pay for what they did.”
The room goes very quiet.
“Pay,” I repeat slowly. “What do you mean, pay ?”